Carrying
by iratepirate
Summary: TF Prime: An accident involving Knock Out and an Allspark fragment leaves Arcee sparked, and facing an uncertain future. Expectations of peace and victory ride on a single new life, but who will consider the one femme burdened to carry it?
1. Chapter 1

_IMPORTANT__ Author's Notes – Please read: _

_This fic is being written in response to all those fluffy 'Arcee has a sparkling with Knock Out/Bumblebee/Optimus/insert-name-here' stories that have been appearing on this website in recent times. Whilst I acknowledge that people enjoy such stories of happiness and general cuteness in an age when every time you turn on the TV or read the newspaper you see death and destruction, I'm finding it increasingly frustrating that almost every one of those fics I've read follows the same path. Now, I'm not saying that such fics don't have a place in the fandom; if people enjoy writing/reading them, then of course they do and I for one will never tell someone not to write them. But, as I've already alluded to, the world isn't all sunshine and lollipops. So here I present an alternative, something for those of you looking for something with a bit of realism (as it applies to a fic about giant alien robots, of course), and that challenges perceptions to provoke emotions other than the ones that involve statements such as 'aww, how cute'. _

_And now to the really IMPORTANT bit. This fic WILL offend some of you, as it will explore topics that some of you do not support on moral grounds. I am not condoning or condemning anything in this fic; I am simply presenting an image that, just like life, isn't black and white. And so, I make this request. If you read something that offends you, or upsets you in any way, please STOP READING. While I'm always happy to receive constructive criticism about my writing style and plotline, I don't want to be flamed for 'condoning' things that you don't agree with (as I've already said, I'm expressing neutrality for the purposes of this fic; my personal ideals remain just that, personal) or otherwise upsetting you, as that is not my intention. Stated simply, if you don't like, don't read and forget I ever posted._

_So, for those of you still with me, please, consider yourself warned and, I hope, enjoy._

**Chapter 1**

**Carrying**

Thanks to the Primus-forsaken Allspark, Arcee was what the humans would call pregnant. Or in other words: sparked. Carrying, baking a bun, knocked up...totally fragged.

And to make matters worse, she wasn't the sole creator. Oh no – if fate was going to screw her over, it was going to do it properly it seemed. Of all beings the co-creator could have been, there were few that could have been considered worse than the one that had been chosen for her.

Knock Out.

He was the one that had brushed up against it and set it working, raw energy crackling and dancing over its surface like lightning. But she was the idiot who had fallen and subsequently hadn't been able to pull herself free from it until the damage had been done.

She wasn't built for producing sparklings; she didn't like them for a start and she didn't have the motherly instincts for them either. And what the slag was she supposed to do with one in the middle of a fragging war anyway?

Another stupid mistake had seen her secret revealed; getting shot in the abdomen had required repairs and Ratchet's scans picked up the abnormality in her spark – and hey presto, the whole world knew she was carrying the saviour of the universe or some such scrap.

Frag that for a joke.

Arcee paced back and forth in the dark storage room, counting down the minutes until Optimus, or Ratchet, came searching for her, looking for a spark-to-spark talk. It seemed that all she had been doing those last few cycles had been talking – or rather, listening – about how wonderful the impending spark transfer would be, and how much her life would change, particularly when it came to pain, nausea and general suffering over the next 24.25 months, or thereabouts.

And then there were the non-stop questions from the others, ranging from the typical 'do you want a mech or a femme?' and 'what will it's name be?', to the more tricky ones – predominantly from the humans – such as 'so...explain this sparking thing to me again...'.

Oh yes, it was fragging wonderful alright.

But when it came down to the important things – like how the frag _she_ felt about the fact that she was suddenly and unexpectedly carrying a sparkling – it seemed that no one was willing to pay attention. She, unlike them, wasn't excited. She wasn't looking forward to holding a useless lump of steel in her arms and forcing precious energon down it's greedy throat components, energon that was required to keep the army functioning because no, the war was not going to end because she was expecting.

And, more than anything else, she didn't want to become some helpless femme sitting on the sidelines simply because she was considered too 'valuable' to send out onto the battlefield. She was a warrior, and Second in Command, and no matter what Optimus and Ratchet said, they needed her.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor outside made Arcee pause in her pacing; perhaps whoever it was hadn't heard her and would just keep walking if she remained motionless for a while. But, much like everything else in her life at that moment, it seemed she wasn't going to get her way. The heavy blast door slid open with a long hiss and Arcee was greeted by the sight of Ratchet standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Ah, there you are," he said, inviting himself into the storage room despite the less-than-friendly look Arcee threw at him. "You didn't show up for your examination this morning. You _know_ how important it is that we keep on top of your biochemistry levels; dealing with a sparking during an energon shortage isn't the best situation, but, if we monitor things closely—"

"Isn't the energon shortage exactly _why_ I shouldn't be going through with this?" Arcee said coldly, interrupting they physician without remorse. "Not to mention the whole 'endless war' thing. I really—"

"Arcee," Ratchet cut her off, as was becoming the norm these days. "You need to stop talking like that. I know that you're still coming to terms with your sparking, but you shouldn't feel guilty about bringing a new life into the universe. We will make our energon supplies last, and with my research into Synthin progressing well, we should have a viable source of fuel available to us before you reach full term."

"You miss my point," Arcee responded, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't _want_ to reach full term. I don't _want_ a sparkling. How many times do I have to tell you before you'll start _listening_ to me?"

Ratchet frowned, and approached the femme with an outstretched hand, looking to place it on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. Arcee shrugged it off immediately, her scowl deepening.

"It is quite normal for a new carrier to have reservations about what lies ahead, but trust me, Arcee, I will be with you every step of the way. You just need time to get used to the idea, that's all. When you're holding that newspark in your arms for the first time, you will forget all about those fears you have now."

"Fears?" Arcee spat as she pushed her way past Rachet. "The only fears I have, Ratchet, are the ones that involve you continuing to ignore me. I don't have time for your fragging tests right now because, in case you haven't noticed, we're still in the middle of a war and patrols still need to be carried out. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

The medic let out an irritated huff and followed the femme into the corridor. "Don't give me that, Arcee, I know you've been relieved of active duty as well as you do. Now, I really would like to exami—"

"No slag I've been relieved of active duty, Ratchet!" Arcee shouted, rounding angrily on the mech. "No thanks to your support too, I'm sure. Well, just so you know, there's nothing stopping me from leaving the base for a leisurely drive, is there? And if I just happen to spot some Decepticon activity while I'm out, well, I guess I can't help that, can I?"

"Arcee, don't be a fool," Ratchet snapped, losing patience with the femme. "It is exactly _because_ of the energon shortage that you need to rest and maintain your fuel levels, which is _why_ you've been relieved of duty for the time being. You're right, there is nothing stopping you going out for a drive every now and then, but seriously, Arcee, you need to be careful. Going out looking for Decepticons is only going to put you and your sparkling in danger, whether you find them or not."

Arcee scoffed as she turned away from Ratchet and stormed down the corridor. "And who says that's a bad thing?"

The sound of her own footsteps was the only response she received as she left the medic behind her, obviously stunned silent by her words. It wasn't that she wanted to hurt him, but she knew there was no way he would truly help her if he wasn't willing to hear and, more importantly, _understand_, her position.

And she hadn't been honest to him, if she admitted it to herself; she did have fears. She was scared about a future that seemed to be thrusting itself upon her without her consent. She was scared of becoming a burden on an already over-stretched army, she was scared of losing the independence she had fought so hard to win...

But most of all, she was terrified of becoming something she wasn't.

Reaching the main entrance to the base, Arcee transformed, disliking the slight strain it put on her systems. The hot afternoon air was not pleasant, yet the freedom it represented was welcomed anyway. Accelerating, she headed for the highway.

* * *

><p>The sky had become an inky navy blue by the time Arcee found herself reaching the outskirts of Jasper. She hadn't intended on being out so long, but with the road stretching out so longingly before her it had been almost impossible to turn around. Not to mention the five hails from base that had each ended in her killing the line with a statement ending in 'off'. Didn't they realise she was old enough to look after herself?<p>

It wasn't until her fuel levels began to drop significantly and a warning appeared in her HUD that Arcee finally decided that driving aimlessly into the night probably wasn't a wise idea – not because she was concerned for the sparkling, but because in the somewhat likely event that the Decepticons spotted her alone, she might not have the energy to fight off a whole battalion of the fraggers. Plus, she wasn't in the mood for another long lecture when she finally did return to base; it was going to be long enough as it was.

Had she not been in her alt mode, Arcee would have clenched her fists. Just a few months ago she could have driven aimlessly for days and still been able to scrap Decepticons. Now, she felt tired after just a few hours driving, and couldn't even do _that_ without being constantly hounded by her comrades to 'return to base' and 'be careful'. Decepticons weren't even allowed into the equation anymore.

She felt useless, and it was only just the beginning.

Arcee drifted to a halt at the traffic lights, her earlier anger dissipating to give way to depression. She hadn't asked for any of this, and all she wanted was to put an end to it now, before the others got too attached to the idea of having a screaming, demanding, disgusting lump rolling around the base.

She scoffed at the thought; too late for that.

The traffic light changed, bathing her form in a dim green light as she stood motionless in the silent, empty street. She really, _really_ didn't want to go back to base yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time before Ratchet blew a gasket and opened a land bridge in order to berate her in person if she didn't haul her aft back there pronto.

A rush of air forced its way through her vents in the imitation of a sigh. Rocking back and forth slowly on her tyres, Arcee contemplated her predicament. She couldn't go back to base, not if she wanted to stay sane, but she couldn't just drive around all night either. But, if she could convince Ratchet that yes, she was resting and no, she wasn't in danger, then perhaps he, and the rest of her Autobot companions, would leave her alone for a few hours. She sighed again, and turned left towards the Darby residence.

Granted Jack was becoming as much of a pain in the aft as the rest of them, but still, he was the lesser of two evils in that moment.

* * *

><p>The mug in June Darby's hand began to tilt slowly downwards, threatening to spill the cold dregs of coffee onto the recently cleaned carpet. It was one of those rare nights where she hadn't been required to work, and without the company of her son it hadn't taken her long to fall asleep in front of the TV, the DVD menu repeating over and over again having completed its feature presentation 10 minutes ago.<p>

She murmured quietly and shifted slightly on the couch, the movement just enough to send the mug sliding from her long fingers and falling to the floor, where it landed with a dull 'thunk'. June woke with a start and, taking a few moments to gain her bearings, realised she'd just made a mess on the floor.

"Ahh, damn it," she muttered, pressing her fingers to her temples in what had become a habit in place of swearing. The woman pulled a tissue from her pocket and mopped up the spilled coffee as much as the fragile paper would allow. It didn't take long to realise she needed something more heavy duty.

Making her way into the kitchen, June was surprised to hear the garage door opening. She glanced up at the clock and confirmed her suspicions – it was way too early for Jack to be home from work, he'd been asked to cover the late shift and wasn't due back for at least another two hours. Not to mention that his boss was driving him home, so there was no need for him to come in through the garage anyway.

She frowned as she took hold of the paper towels, a dozen thoughts of things that could have gone wrong with Jack's night flooding her mind cruelly. Yes, he was sixteen, but that didn't make him an adult and really, being out so late was just so _dangerous_. Anything could have happened to him, especially since Arcee wasn't around as much as she used to be.

Why hadn't she offered to pick him up from work?

Filled with fear and uncertainty, June headed for the door that led to the garage. She hesitated as one hand reached for the doorknob, the other clutching the paper towels to her chest like some strange form of comfort.

A scuffling sound could be heard from the other side of the door, leaving no doubt in June's mind that Jack was home and something had indeed gone wrong. Taking a deep breath, the woman opened the door.

The sight that greeted June was definitely not what she had expected to see, and she couldn't help the look of surprise that coloured her features.

"Arcee," she said, approaching the robot that sat hunched in the corner of the unlit room. "What are you doing here? If you're looking for Jack, I'm sorry he's—"

"Oh...hey June. No, I...ah...I wasn't looking for Jack. I just...I don't..." the femme hesitated, looking down at her clenched hands. "I was just looking for somewhere to rest for a while...I don't know...if you want me to leave, I..."

June frowned slightly, confused by Arcee's unusually frazzled demeanour. And then it dawned on her, the news that Jack had delivered to her just a few weeks ago.

That robot before her was..._pregnant_.

As shocking and unbelievable as the news had been – and still was – June recognised the look of despondency on Arcee's face. She had seen it on the faces of so many young women passing through the Emergency Room doors, and she had seen it reflected on her own face sixteen years ago.

"No, that's ok, Arcee, you're welcome here any time," she said, placing the paper towels down on the bench and moving closer to the femme. "It's good to see you again. And I hear that congratulations are in order—"

Arcee visibly cringed at her words, and June immediately regretted them.

"—or not. Is everything okay, Arcee?"

The motorcycle's frown deepened and she closed her eyes, the pale blue light they offered disappearing and sending the garage back into darkness.

"I'll take that as a no. Do you want to talk about it?"

Arcee's eyes opened again, and she regarded June with a look that seemed to scream both yes and no at the same time. After what seemed an eternity of scrutiny, she responded: "Not really."

June sighed, and smiled warmly up at Arcee. "Well, if you do ever want to talk, you know where I am. Now, I'm sure you're wanting a bit of space, so unless you need anything, I'll leave you."

"Thank you."

June nodded once in acknowledgement and retreated; the door was almost closed behind her when Arcee's spoke again.

"Actually, June?"

The woman wasn't surprised to hear her voice again, that scrutinising look Arcee had given her had told her there was something the motorcycle was desperate to talk about. But whether she would actually open up to her or not was uncertain.

"What can I do for you, Arcee?" she replied, re-entering the garage.

"I...could really do with some company right now, if you're not busy."

June switched on the light, and waited for the fluorescent bulb to flicker noisily to life before responding with a smile. "Of course," she said, pulling herself up to sit on the bench and bringing herself slightly closer to her companion's eye height.

The pair sat in silence for a while, the sound of the occasional mosquito buzzing past or a moth banging stupidly against the window as it tried to reach the light the only noises that interrupted their uneasy thoughts.

If she admitted it, June had a million questions she was dying to ask the Cybertronian woman – ranging from the inane to the rather intimate details of how her pregnancy was even possible – but more than anything else she wanted to know why Arcee looked so...defeated.

Was it that she was simply scared? Or was there something more to it?

Whatever it was, however, she wasn't going to pry. One thing she had learnt from her years of working in a hospital was that if someone didn't want to talk, you didn't push. It only ended in disaster.

"June?" Arcee suddenly said, disturbing the silence. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she replied, smiling with reassurance.

Arcee's eyes remained fixed on her hands. "When you were sparked with Jack... Did people treat you like you no longer existed, like it was only the sparkling that mattered?"

And there it was, laid out before her like a written statement. The Cybertronian hadn't said as much, but June knew from experience exactly what she was getting at.

She was having second thoughts.

_To be continued._

* * *

><p><em>A big thank you in advance to all of you who read and review this fic, your comments are always appreciated. And an especially big thanks to Taipan Kiryu, for answering all my tricky questions and providing such precious advice.<em>


	2. Questioning

_First of all, I want to say a very, very big thank you to all of you who took the time to leave me such wonderfully positive reviews. I'm always anxious when it comes to posting, and with a fic like this said anxiety increases tenfold. I hope you will continue to enjoy!_

_This chapter ended up taking me a lot longer than I had intended. I had the first half written back in November but wasn't happy with the dialogue; I think I ended up doing 5 or 6 re-writes which is just crazy. And then there was the second half, which took so long to actually come to me I thought my inspiration bug may have shrivelled up and died (possibly poisoned by the disappointing plotlines of TFP Season 2, but I digress). Throw in my extremely busy schedule and yeah, I'm glad to have reached the point of posting! _

_To Taipan Kiryu and TSBP – I cannot thank you enough for your valuable advice and encouragement._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

**Questioning**

The lamp on Ratchet's desk did little to hinder the shadows hiding in the night surrounding him. It was if they were projecting his own thoughts, mirroring the darkness that was forming within his spark as he toiled over a task that should have been a pleasure.

The medic cast yet another data pad aside, sighing as he did so. It had been so very long since he had been required to act as physician to a carrier, so long, in fact that with the war stretching on endlessly he had begun to believe that such responsibilities were a thing of the past. And now...

Now it was all wrong.

Ratchet stared down at his tired, old hands, feeling truly lost for the first time in eons. There were so many things to do, so much to prepare and build, and all of that before he could even consider beginning work on the sparkling's outer frame.

He shook his head sadly. How he was going to be able to find enough suitable alloy on Earth to build the frame he had no idea; as it was he was going to have to rely on donations from at least two of the other 'bots, excluding himself who undoubtedly could afford to give the most... But who was there to ask? He seriously doubted Arcee would donate even if she were in a fit enough state to physically do so, and he couldn't ask the Prime... But as Bulkhead and Bumblebee were now seeing an even greater share of the fighting they couldn't risk weakening their defences any further.

And even if he could find a suitable substitute alloy, there was no telling how the newspark would react to what would undoubtedly be an inferior frame.

Ratchet picked up another datapad and switched it on, cringing as the words 'Premature Spark Separation and Post Natal Care' sprang to life on the screen. The medic didn't even want to compute that scenario; even with his improvised set of medical tools there was no way the limited equipment he had access to would suffice in such circumstances. He switched the pad off and put it on the pile to be dealt with later.

Just when he'd begun to believe that fate couldn't be any cruller to the Cybertronian race... It was just as well he didn't believe in the concept of Primus being some kind of omnipotent god, otherwise he would have been cursing him by now. Of course, as a medic he had been faced with the harsh realities of death and failure both before and during the war – bringing new life into the universe was a treacherous task by its very nature – but to have such a symbol of hope dangled before them so tauntingly when the odds against them were impossibly high... It just wasn't right.

Ratchet switched off his desk lamp and sat in the darkness of his med bay forlornly, his dim optics eyeing the entrance to his personal quarters with contempt. There was no point in attempting to recharge, not when his mind refused to contemplate the idea of rest as it had done for several weeks now. A gust of air coursed through his vents in defeat, and the old medic stood tiredly.

"Lights at 90 percent," he grunted as he made his way over to his workbench; the fluorescent tubes above him blinked noisily into life and illuminated the set of tiny, unfinished tools resting on the metallic surface.

Dark fingers ran the length of what would soon be a pair of sparkling forceps, the tiny instrument that would be tasked with releasing the tiny protoform from the confines of Arcee's chest ready for transference into a frame of its own. The thought made him shiver in both anticipation and trepidation; there was such a long path to be travelled before that moment came, if it came at all.

There were just so many unknowns, so many possible complications and outcomes that all ended in tragedy...

Ratchet jumped when the doors to the med bay hissed open, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked up to find the Prime walking towards him.

"Optimus," he said in greeting, nodding slightly as he did so.

"Sorry for disturbing you, old friend," Optimus said as he approached the workbench, eyeing the collection of tools knowingly. "Did you manage to track Arcee's location?"

"I did," Ratchet said, rechecking her energy levels on the small monitor within his arm. "She is currently at the Darby residence, and it's probably the best place for her at the moment; it's certainly better than her being out in the open. Hopefully she will have the sense to get some recharge while she's there; I don't think she has been getting much here lately."

"I'd prefer that she return to base," the Prime stated, apparently not heeding the full meaning of the medic's observation. "I have hailed her several times now and she refuses to respond; I cannot understand why she continues to put herself at such risk. Perhaps it would be better if I sent someone to retrieve her."

Ratchet frowned as he closed the panel on his arm, regarding his leader carefully. "I don't want to speak out of turn, Optimus, but I don't think that a good idea. You know what Arcee is like; she obviously needs some space, and she'll be safe there. Leave her be, I'm sure she will return to base tomorrow."

"I am at a loss, Ratchet," Optimus said, his voice betraying no emotion. "This is not the first time that she has taken off without informing anyone, and it is not the first time that she has refused to return to base when instructed. Her behaviour of late has been reckless and irresponsible, putting her sparking at risk. It is...disappointing, and concerning."

The medic remained silent for a moment, forcing a sigh through his vents as he crossed and uncrossed his arms over his chest. "She is scared, Optimus," he finally spoke, "and she has every reason to be. Her fears about the energon shortage, about our poor defences and dwindling safety; they are well founded. Surely you can't deny that."

"No, I cannot. But we have been given a blessing in this time of hardship, and it is our duty as Autobots and as some of the last survivors of our race to protect Arcee's sparkling and guide it on the path of good. We cannot allow such a precious gift to perish because of mistakes it had no part in."

"It is one thing to say that, Optimus," Ratchet said, picking up the forceps and inspecting the tiny crucible-like tips, "but another to realise it. I am doing my best to reassure Arcee that everything will be okay, but she is not stupid. She knows how much of a strain this will put on our energon supplies. She knows it is only a matter of time before Megatron finds out and steps up his war efforts to take advantage of our weakness. And she knows that there is little she can do to stop that because she's not able to fight anymore. Even after the protoform transfer that will not change. Can you blame her for acting as she has? She is terrified, and she blames herself for putting the army at such risk. I fear that it's only a matter of time before she asks the question, Optimus."

The Prime shook his head slightly, turning away. "I thought I had made myself clear on that matter, Ratchet," he said, his stern voice echoing about the empty med bay eerily.

"Believe me, if things were different – if we were back on Cybertron and there was someone else that she could turn to... I could send her away in the knowledge that she could get the help she required from someone else. But there _is_ no one else. I am her physician and if she decides that she wants to terminate, I cannot refuse her wishes. We are already seeing the signs of her desperation, Optimus. If she comes to me for help and I ignore her...it will only lead to further tragedy."

"I cannot allow another innocent life to be lost, Ratchet. You are correct; Arcee's concerns are well founded. But that does not mean that we should give up hope simply because it seems that the odds are against us. To give up now is to let Megatron win; it is to say that all of those millions of lives were lost for nothing, that this eternal war has been for nothing. I am sorry, Ratchet, but I cannot allow that to happen."

The medic nearly scoffed at his leader's words; whilst he shared the sentiment, he had heard it all before and had subsequently had to deal with all the bloodshed that had followed. Ratchet looked up at Optimus' tall frame, the dim light casting a ghostly glow about him as it reflected off the thick armour covering his back.

"What do you suggest we do then? Arcee's patience with me is close to reaching its limit as it is; she needs more than the empty promises that you're forcing me to give her."

Optimus Prime turned to face the smaller mech, his blue optics burning with an intensity he hadn't seen in eons. "We must find a way to end the war, before the protoform is transferred."

"W-what? Optimus, how by the Allspark do you think—"

"It is our only option, Ratchet. Be it by peaceful means or otherwise, Arcee's sparkling will not face the terrors of war that have become our normal way of life."

Ratchet opened his mouth, and then closed it again, unsure of how to respond to that statement. Of course it was the outcome that they all dreamed of, but, after so many eons of war such a thing was just that – a dream.

"Perhaps you are right about Arcee needing some space," Optimus continued. "I will allow her to remain at the Darby residence for the night, but I would appreciate it if you would open a ground bridge for her to return first thing in the morning; we have much to discuss. Goodnight, old friend."

With that, the Prime turned and left in silence.

Ratchet placed the forceps back on the workbench and ran a hand over his helm, a new feeling of dread setting in his spark. He could still see the light of those two blue orbs of fire, as if they had been burned into his optics as well as his memory banks, and the thought of what they represented scared him.

Ending the war...peacefully or otherwise...

Desperation, it seemed, was a very dangerous thing.

And not just for the tiny spark of life growing in Arcee's chest.

* * *

><p>The mirror before her continued to reflect the same image it had done for the past half hour; the image of a young woman who had done something incredibly stupid, and was now having to face the consequences. The sparkling diamond ring that newly graced her finger seemed insignificant as it glided over the taught skin of her swollen belly, the child growing inside changing more than just her body shape.<p>

June stumbled backwards, her bare skin kissing the cool tiles of the bathroom wall as the weight of the world came crashing down upon her, the significance of her situation truly hitting her for the first time. It should have been a moment of joy, the realisation of every little girl's dream resting there on the hard, unforgiving floor; the blushing bride with a baby on the way...

But the tears that stained her skin with black eyeliner spoke of a reality no little girl could ever dream of; a reality fraught with mistakes, a reality filled with decisions so difficult to face...

* * *

><p>June sipped absently at her morning coffee, not really registering that the brown vice had become soupy and cold. Her son had yet to stir for the day, however, it didn't bother her much; he was a hard working kid and deserved his rest.<p>

Yet the boy wasn't far from her thoughts as she found herself pondering the discussion of the night before, difficult memories stirring from places long since subdued, drawn out by the unspoken fears of an alien woman.

In the short time that she had known Arcee, June had learnt that the Autobot was a woman of few words. But last night, in those long, painful silences, her body language had said more than any spoken words ever could.

June hadn't been lying when she had told Arcee that she wasn't the kind of girl she'd expected Jack to leave her for, but after spending several hours with her just sitting, watching, June had come to realise that her first impression had been just as far off as her expectations. She had never noticed the faint scar on her left cheek before, never noticed the deep scratches in her paintwork that spoke of just how old she was, how much she had seen. She was millennia old, from a planet so distant it couldn't be seen in the darkest of night skies...

And yet there she was, facing such a _human_ problem – the same problem she herself had battled with sixteen years ago.

Perhaps it was presumptuous of her to think that Arcee's unexpected visit had been anything more than a desire to have some company; perhaps it was premature to think that it had been a cry for help. Maybe it was simply loneliness, and the need for a female ear that would understand and not just listen.

Still, June couldn't shake the feeling that there had been something deeper than the obvious uncertainty lingering in the dark shadows of the night before, and a cold sense of foreboding had begun to rise the moment Arcee had set eyes upon her. Something was _wrong_, she just knew it.

The sound of a door opening and soft footfalls in the hallway drew June from her thoughts, bringing her attention to the unpleasant taste of her cold coffee. Casting a disdainful glance at the remains of her beverage she stood up and made her way to the sink, emptying her mug and switching on the kettle for the third time that morning.

"Good morning, honey," she said as her son emerged from his hibernation, hair in disarray and eyes squinting against the soft light.

"Hey, mum," he mumbled, moving to her to receive his customary peck on the forehead.

"Coffee?"

"Mmm, thanks."

June watched as Jack stumbled around the kitchen, fumbling through the cupboards to find a breakfast bowl and cereal. It wasn't a routine she got to watch very often thanks to their competing work and school commitments, but every time she did she couldn't help but smile at his teenage lethargy.

They sat in companionable silence as Jack began to shovel in his breakfast between sips of coffee, slowly working himself into a state of alertness. The fact that he had headed straight for the kitchen and not said more than a hello proved that he hadn't been aware of their overnight lodger, nor had he heard her leave just before sunrise.

June wasn't sure if that made things easier, or harder.

Once again she found herself pondering the situation, a mix of worry and uncertainty flooding her mind and manifesting in the wringing of her hands. Was it her place to start asking questions? Was it her place to meddle; to presume that her help was wanted – or even needed?

Still, her motherly instincts kicked hard against her will and soon won the battle over any hesitation that resided within, words spilling out like the second helping of cornflakes Jack was pouring into his bowl.

"Jack, have you spoken to Arcee lately? I mean, about the baby?"

Jack looked up at her in surprise, his spoon pausing halfway on its journey to his mouth. "Uhh... Not really, no. She's made it pretty clear that she doesn't want to talk about it, and I kinda like having my head attached to my neck. Why?"

"She was here last night, and aside from looking very tired she seemed very unhappy about things. Has she said anything to you about it?"

Jack lowered the spoon back into the bowl, returning the soggy flakes to their milk with a slop. "What? She was here? When?"

"She actually stayed the night here; I heard her leave sometime around six this morning."

"Nice of her to say hello to her partner," Jack grumbled, returning to his breakfast. "So what did she want?"

June sighed, looking into the depths of her coffee mug. "I'm not sure," she admitted, allowing her concern to colour her voice slightly. "When I found her sitting in the garage she told me she was looking for somewhere to rest, but I think there was something more to it than that. She seemed confused, but although I kept her company for a few hours she didn't really say anything to me."

"Arcee isn't exactly the talkative type, mum," Jack interjected through a mouth full of food.

"I know, Jack, but this was different. She was the one that asked me to stay with her and I think she wanted to talk but, well, she doesn't really know me, does she?"

"Well she obviously wasn't waiting for me, otherwise she would have done something to catch my attention when I got home from work. Or waited for me to wake up before leaving. Maybe she _was_ just wanting somewhere to stay."

"Maybe..." June conceded, feeling no more reassured as she had the night before. "Just promise me you'll listen to her if she does decide to talk."

"O-of course," the young man replied, giving her a slightly confused look as she stood and cleared away her dishes.

June placed another kiss on Jack's forehead before making her way out of the kitchen. He was a beautiful mistake, one that she would never regret despite the turmoil his conception had brought her.

She only hoped that he would be strong enough to face the turmoil she feared was coming.

_To be continued._

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><p><em>As always, reviews are always appreciated – thanks!<em>


	3. Ignorance

_So, it's taken me a year to get around to it, but finally, FINALLY, I am able to post an update! Usual excuse of being very busy, but not only that, I also really struggled to write this chapter. I scrapped a dozen different options before finally settling on this, and honestly, it's nothing like I originally planned. Having said that, some of the lines in this were written a year ago almost to the day!_

_It was my intent to reply to all of the wonderful reviews I've received, but again, life got in the way and I'm afraid I haven't acknowledged you all. So I take the opportunity to thank all of you now for your positive feedback, advice and questions; my silence does not show it but your reviews really mean a lot to me. Thank you! _

_And a huge thank you must go to my dear friend Taipan Kiryu, who took the time to read and provide such valuable, honest advice. Honestly sis, I'd never post anything if not for your encouragement and inspiration._

_I won't keep you waiting any longer, but I will answer some of your questions at the end of the chapter..._

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

**Ignorance**

Jackson Darby stared blankly at his trigonometry book, unheeding of the mathematical equations printed on the yellowed, dog-eared pages. Head resting in his palm he unconsciously tapped his pencil on the blank page of his notebook, totally lost to the noise of the classroom around him.

His final exams couldn't have been further from his mind as he wallowed in his own anxiety, the revelations of the past few months rendering such small things insignificant. What would it matter if he failed, his grades were good enough to see him through to his final year of high school; it wasn't as if the results would be life changing.

Unlike being pregnant.

It was a topic that had been plaguing his thoughts relentlessly since Ratchet had broken the news, the initial shock giving way to a more complex set of emotions, the foremost of which being confusion. He had never really known anyone that was pregnant before and really didn't know what to expect, but to think of Arcee having a child... It just seemed so impossible.

And not just on the grounds of her being Cybertronian either. The Arcee he had come to know and love was fiercely in independent; as much as she was his guardian and – until recently at least – enjoyed his company, Jack had always understood that she preferred to be alone. He didn't know what she had been like before her first partner had been taken from her, but it seemed that the scars Airachnid had left her with ran spark-deep. The walls of protection she had put up to keep others away would always remain visible, no matter how hard he and the others tried to wear them down.

It was that thought above all others that worried Jack the most. He just couldn't picture Arcee being able to form a motherly bond with her child; a child that would be weak and defenceless and a likely target for those wishing to shatter Arcee's already damaged spark.

And it wasn't just Airachnid who posed such a threat either; Starscream too had proven his ability to kill the ones she was closest to. How could she possibly grow close to her baby when she still feared her friendships with those capable of protecting themselves? Already he could sense the walls being built, higher and stronger than any that she currently relied on.

The boy let out a sigh, his pencil moving from the blank notebook to his lips. He hated not knowing what to do, he wanted to talk to her but quite frankly, she frightened him. He just didn't know how to react to Arcee anymore, she had always been guarded but now...now all he had to do was look like he was about to speak and she'd threaten to tear him apart.

He could tell his mother was concerned too, she hadn't said much on the matter since that morning after Arcee's unannounced visit, but he could see it in her eyes nonetheless. Jack wasn't certain, but he suspected that she may have been approached by Arcee a few times since that night; there was just something in the way they had been addressing each other at base which suggested there was more going on than he was allowed to know.

Part of him was gladdened by the thought, if Arcee was finally reaching out to someone then why not his mother, someone who might be better placed to understand the situation. And yet, another part felt uneasy at the prospect of the two of them spending time together, especially when he himself was being pushed away, unable to speak his mind.

Could it be that he was jealous?

Jack ran a hand through his dark hair as he looked down at his desk, a feeling of helplessness beginning to stir within. He hated seeing Arcee so angry and lost, but for reasons still unknown to him, she didn't seem to want his help.

Or his company, for that matter.

Still, part of him realised that it wasn't necessarily personal; it seemed Arcee treated all her comrades harshly these days and as for Miko, well, he wasn't sure the girl would ever get over her most recent encounter with the Autobot.

Jack's pencil returned to tapping the notebook, the yellow paint on its end now sporting fresh teeth marks. It was strange to think he actually felt sorry for Miko, normally she deserved some kind of reprimand for the words that came out of her mouth but on that particular occasion, all she had done was ask if Arcee was feeling okay. He'd been about to ask the same question himself; it wasn't normal for anyone to suddenly go pale after all, let alone a pregnant woman.

That was another thing that worried him. He knew that, with human pregnancies at least, it was normal for a woman to feel sick, but to him, Arcee wasn't just looking sick. She was looking weak, not in the sense of being frail exactly, but as if all the energy was being drained from her.

Once again, perhaps it was his ignorance when it came to the topic of pregnancy – and more specifically, Cybertronian sparking – but to him Arcee didn't look as he had expected her to. She certainly wasn't glowing, as the clichés always described.

Jack would have liked to ask Ratchet about it, but the grumpy medic was too busy to worry about answering his dumb questions. He supposed he could ask his mother, but then again, how could she know what was normal in a Cybertronian pregnancy?

The pencil moved to Jack's lips again as he tried to convince himself everything was fine. Perhaps it was just the stress she was under; perhaps there was nothing wrong at all.

But try as he might to convince himself otherwise, Jack couldn't shake the horrible feeling that something was going on, something he wasn't allowed to know about. Even if he took Arcee herself out of the equation, he could still feel the unease of the other Autobots as if it were a physical weight on his shoulders.

For starters, he had never known Bumblebee to be so quiet, especially given how excited he'd initially been when Ratchet had broken the news to them all. Now he seemed confused, scared even, to the point where Raf was beside himself with worry.

Bulkhead wasn't himself either, the Wrecker spending more and more time in the training room honing his skills rather than hanging out with Miko and her favourite video games. And while the girl enjoyed watching his increased aggression and the destruction that came with it, her disappointment at being pushed aside was becoming more and more apparent as the weeks went by.

It was as if they were preparing for something, something other than a new arrival.

But the most noticeable changes were in Ratchet and Optimus, the two bots that had always seemed the most...stable. There was obvious tension between the pair of them; whilst neither of them had ever been overly conversational, their exchanges had become somewhat clipped of late, a series of commands and responses and nothing more.

Jack ran his hand through his hair again, a nervous habit which brought little comfort. It was disturbing to think that Arcee was the cause of such changes in his family, but what other explanation could there possibly be? He wasn't so naive to think that she was happy about being pregnant, but was it simply her attitude that was affecting everyone so badly?

Or was it something else?

Again, perhaps it was just his anxiety playing with his imagination, but the thought made him feel rather sick to the stomach.

If only he didn't feel so uncomfortable speaking to his mother about all this; while he didn't want to make her worry, he really wished he could just air his fears without feeling utterly stupid. He couldn't understand why he suddenly felt that way, he'd always been close to his mother and had never had trouble opening up to her before.

A sudden rush of air and a loud thump startled Jack out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the reality of his math class. He looked up to find Mr Baker standing above him, a frown on his moustachioed face and the textbook with which he had just banged the desk held loosely in his hand.

"Do I have your attention now, Mr Darby?" his teacher asked as his classmates began to giggle.

"I-I... Sorry, Mr Baker. I was just..." Jack stammered in reply, embarrassed and out of words.

"Daydreaming? Yes, I could see that. Stay back after class, I want to speak to you."

"Uh...yes, Mr Baker."

Jack lowered his eyes as Mr Baker returned to the front of the classroom, turning his gaze aside to see Vince laughing silently at him from the back of the room.

Great, that was all he needed.

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><p>The student sat silently as his teacher flicked through the papers on his desk, back turned to hide the decisive intentions written over his face. He could hear the rowdy excitement of his fellow students outside, making their exit to weekend freedom without any thought for the poor individuals still trapped inside, locked away in detention...or worse.<p>

Jack repressed a sigh, wishing he was in detention rather than waiting to face the interrogation he knew was coming. He had faced the questions of Mr Baker only once before, following those first few months after he had met the Autobots and had subsequently spent all his time with them, instead of studying. Those questions had been hard enough to answer, but this time... He had never wanted to become an accomplished liar.

Having found what he was looking for, the teacher turned to face him and walked slowly between the rows of desks, a frown creasing his usually smiling face. It seemed to take an age for him to reach the back of the room.

"Jack," Mr Baker began, taking a seat on the desk beside Jack's own and handing over the piece of paper, "this is the second test you've failed this semester. You didn't hand up your last assignment, and you barely passed the one before that."

Jack turned the test paper over in his hands, taking note of the red markings scrawled all over the spaces where he should have completed his answers. A sense of dread filled his stomach as he realised that word of his recent failings would be reaching his mother soon; there was no doubt she'd be disappointed in him.

Again.

"I've had you in my class for three years now, Jack, and I know that you're capable of more than this. It's unlike you to be so complacent about your work, and to be so distracted in class. And from what I've heard, math isn't the only subject you're struggling in, am I correct?"

The boy kept his eyes down, reading – but not necessarily heeding – the comments written on the top of the page over and over. It was true, he had let his studies slip, but it hadn't been intentional. How was he supposed to concentrate when his family seemed poised to disintegrate around him?

Still, the thought of letting his mother down caused a sting far more painful than the bespectacled gaze he could feel Mr Baker pinning on his shoulders. She had enough on her plate already without having to worry about his performance at school. Wordlessly, Jack nodded in reply.

"I don't have to tell you that this is unacceptable, do I?" The teacher asked, reaching out to take the test paper back.

"No, Mr Baker."

"Care to tell me what's going on?"

Now Jack did sigh. If he was honest with himself, he had been expecting this for some time now. But it hadn't made him wise enough to prepare an answer, let alone a believable excuse.

Yet, as stupid as it seemed, part of him didn't want to make an excuse. Part of him was sick of lying, sick of keeping his mouth shut and swallowing his thoughts, as if they weren't important enough to share or worry about.

"Jack," Mr Baker pressed, almost gently.

Jack looked up, meeting his teacher's blue eyes with apprehension. "Ah it's...it's private, Mr Baker."

Mr Baker nodded, scratching at the corner of his mouth where his white moustache curved inwards rather than outwards. "It usually is," he admitted knowingly. "And if it is, well, you don't have to tell me about it."

Jack simply nodded in response, lowering his eyes again.

"However, I can't allow you to continue this way, either. You need to lift your game, Jack, or you won't be taking the classes you chose for next year. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr Baker," the boy replied softly. "It's just..." Jack stopped himself, unsure of what to say next. His teacher was right, he couldn't continue down the path of failure without accepting the consequences, nor could he expect his teachers to accept his silence on the matter.

Jack could sense Mr Baker's eyes watching him, the man waiting patiently for him to continue. He couldn't say that he'd ever enjoyed Mr Baker's classes – who in their right mind would _ever_ enjoy math class – but it hadn't taken long for Jack to develop a deep respect for the elderly teacher. For one thing, he cared for his students, unlike others, and never seemed to judge or criticize without due cause.

Jack bit his lip, finding himself at a crossroads. For months now he had remained silent, unable – or perhaps, unwilling – to share his thoughts with anyone. After all, what was the point of speaking when no one was going to listen anyway? Arcee had certainly made it very clear that she didn't want to hear his thoughts on anything.

And now here he was, sitting before a man that, regardless of his reasons, was waiting to hear him.

"It's just that," Jack began again, steeling himself, "someone close to me is pregnant and it was totally unplanned and unwanted and..."

The boy suddenly silenced himself, feeling his stomach churn as his rambled admission replayed over in his head. Slowly, he raised his gaze to look Mr Baker in the eyes, waiting for a response. He realised that he had never known the school to be so silent.

"I see," Mr Baker said eventually.

"I-I think she wants to get rid of it but she doesn't talk about it and..." he sighed, running a trembling hand through his hair. "I just don't know what to do."

Mr Baker nodded as he scratched absently at his mouth again, his blue eyes almost piercing. "I know it's a personal question, Jack, but I have to ask: is the baby yours?"

It took a moment for Jack to realise what had been said; when he did, he couldn't have been more shocked. "W-what?! No, no it's not mine, she...she's just a good friend, I..."

"It's okay, Jack, I'm sorry but I just wanted to be sure. So this friend of yours, is she still with the father, or...?"

"Ahh, no, she doesn't...it's complicated."

"Uh huh."

Jack looked down at his trembling hands, unable to recall another moment in which he had felt so _awkward_. What was he supposed to say now, there was no way he could tell the _entire_ truth?

_Idiot, Jack_, he told himself, regretting his decision despite the small weight that had lifted from his shoulders. Primus, he couldn't even confide in his mother and here he was, opening up to his teacher?!

"It's a difficult situation, Jack, and one I must admit I've never been faced with myself," Mr Baker finally spoke, not taking his eyes off the boy. "But it seems to me that any decision your friend might make has to be hers, and the father's. It might be that she isn't ready to talk yet, but it could also be that she is scared of being judged too. For now, I think the best thing you could do is let your friend know that, when she's ready to talk, you'll be there to listen. I know you have good intentions, Jack, but there's only so much a friend can do."

Jack couldn't help but smile slightly at his teacher's advice, although he was certain it would have looked more like a grimace. His words sounded strikingly like the plea his mother had made a couple of months ago, as odd as it had sounded at the time. It seemed, however, that neither of them were able to help when the waiting became too painful to bear. There was a limit to how many times he could offer to listen, there was a limit to how many times he could stand the angry tirade of insults or accusations...

...or worse, the silence.

He found himself running his hand through his hair again, unsure of what to say next. He felt like a fool, embarrassed beyond all belief at his inability to control himself and stay quiet in the first place.

"Jack," Mr Baker finally said, realising that the boy was out of words. "I appreciate your honesty in telling me about this, it can't be an easy situation for you."

Once again, Jack simply nodded in response. He watched with downcast eyes as his teacher picked up the test paper which had been put aside on the desk and held it out for him to take again. The student accepted it without a word, shame filling him once again.

"Look, Jack," Mr Baker continued gently. "I don't want to make life difficult for you, but as I said before, I can't let your performance to continue like this. I would like to offer you some individual tutoring just to help you get back on track; perhaps an hour or two after school each week?"

Jack bit his lip as he considered his teacher's offer; if he accepted then there was no way he'd be able to prevent his mother from finding out about his failings. Yet he could feel Mr Baker watching him, waiting for a response and realised that, although it hadn't been stated that way, he really wasn't being given a choice.

"Thanks, Mr Baker," he finally relented, feeling no better than he had when he'd first walked into class that afternoon. "I appreciate it."

"Good. How does Wednesday afternoon sound?"

"Umm...yeah that's okay, I don't normally work on Wednesdays."

"Good, good. Honestly, Jack, you're a capable young man and with some extra lessons it won't take you long to lift your grades, I'm sure of it. Now, unless you have any questions, you're free to go. And remember Jack, just as you are there to listen to your friend, you know where I am, if you need to talk. Okay?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr Baker. I-I really appreciate it."

Jack stood from his desk somewhat hurriedly, desperate to escape a situation far more uncomfortable than first expected. He had been kidding himself believing that life would carry on without consequence if he just let things slide; he had to pull himself together, and not just for his own sake.

_To be continued._

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><p><em>So there you go, I hope you enjoyed! And as promised, some answers:<em>

_Firstly, Mademoiselle-Loyale491, the exact point at which this fic occurs remains a little flexible, however, it best fits between 'Crisscross' (as you rightly pointed out) and 'One Shall Fall' in Season 1. I may pinch a few ideas from later episodes/seasons, but given my complete disappointment (to put it nicely) with Seasons 2 and 3, the likelihood of me pinching a lot is pretty low at this point. _

_Second, a number of you asked about Knock Out's involvement, whether he will find out about his impending 'fatherhood', and what he thinks about it all. Well, I really don't want to give anything away, aside to say that all will be revealed in time... Yeah, that's not the answer you wanted, huh?! _

_And to AnonymousZGirl, who left 2 reviews concerned that I had abandoned this fic: fear not! Although it will probably take me some time to update again, I definitely will not abandon it!_

_As always, reviews are greatly appreciated :)_


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